The Assassin's Mask
by the-eagle-aye
Summary: When Nikita's life takes a brutal turn, she is forced to go to the Assassin's for help. There, she is introduced to a life of kill or be killed. Only one man is worth the risk. She finds love, she finds her hidden past, and she finds her risky future. Sorry, I am so horrible at summaries! Please, oh please give my story a chance! I have a feeling it would be worth taking a look...
1. Chapter 1

Nikita Aries:

**Age**: 18

**Height**: 5'5

**Build**: Toned arms and legs. Lightly mascular.

**Appearance**: Chopped pale blonde hair in a boyish haircut. Pale complection with striking green eyes. Curvy and slender.

**Outfits**: Usually seen in her own Assassin uniform, the colour either being royal purple or forest green.

**Family**: Mother (Marie), Father (Antony), older brother, (Keiran).

**Weapon/s of Choice**: Gold-plaited pistol and the sword of Eden.

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><p>Keiran Aries:<p>

**Age**: 20

**Height**: 6'2

**Build**: Mascular and big.

**Appearance**: Straight light blonde hair and green-gold eyes. Pale complexion.

**Outfits**: Usually seen in his own custom-made, maroon Assassin uniform.

**Family**: Mother (Marie), Father (Antony), younger sister (Nikita).

**Weapon/s of Choice**: The repeating crossbow, or the heavy falchion.

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><p>Chapter one | Rude Awakening<p>

Nikita Aries awoke from her peaceful slumber by the sound of a gun being fired right beside her ear. She sprang bolt-upright in her bed, her eyes snapping open and looking about her surroundings in a wild and blind panic. Beside her stood her brother, Keiran, staring down at her with a wicked sort of grin, holding a long pistol in his other hand.

"Oh, you're awake," he said in amusement, bringing the pistol towards his lips and blowing the smoke that was raising from the hole.

"Of course I'm awake!" Nikita all but yelled at her brother, staring up at him in scorn. "You _did_ just pull the trigger of a pistol _right next to my face_!"

Keiran chuckled and placed the gun back inside his belt. "I tried to wake you, sister, but you were out cold," he explained, though his voice held no sympathy in it. "I saw no other option."

"You could have roused me!" Nikita screamed, and then pushed herself off the bed. She was dressed in her night gown that reached just above her knees, and was tight around the bossom, and though her mother had always said that it looked quite "scandelous" and "unladylike," Nikita had never slept in anything else.

"What do you want, Keiran?" she demanded, walking across her large bedroom to her vanity table where her hairbrush sat. Her brother watched her from the other side of the room as she sat down at the table and started to brush her long pale locks. He was dressed in fine clothing, his blonde hair a shining halo. "I am in no mood for your tricks and games. Tell me as to why you are here and then you may go."

"_Juste assez, sœur. _(Fair enough, sister.) I have come up here because Father had asked me to take you down to the market. He is going to be out all day today with De La Sere, and he wishes for me to take care of you while he is gone."

"I need not your watchful eye, brother," said Nikita, taking her time in brushing her hair. "I am very capable of taking care of myself."

"I know that, but Father doesn't." Keiran frowned at his sister and took a seat on her bed. "You know how he never likes to see you alone and without protection. Times are tough, especially with the riots going on in every district. It is not safe for a noble to be by herself."

"I can take care of myself," said Nikita again, a slight edge to her tone. Keiran looked at her, long and hard, before he stood up.

"Right. Well, get dressed. We are going to the market." And with that, Keiran left Nikita's room, making no effort of closing the door behind him, to Nikita's annoyance.

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><p>"Are you ready?" asked Keiran when Nikita trotted down the stairs and into the drawing room, where her brother was seated reading a letter. She was dressed in a very fine green dress with frills down the front and a small green sunhat to cover her face. Her hair was in a swirling bun and several strands hung loose around her face. Nikita felt fancy, and pretty, but also quite embarrassed. There were people begging in the streets of Paris, there were people starving and sick, and she felt like a strutting peacock whenever she walked past them in all her finery.<p>

"I am," Nikita answered at last, and her brother arose from his seat and smiled. He was quite a charming boy, Nikita and her mother had always said so, but to him nothing was ever really about love. Keiran enjoyed being with his father and friends, and was hardly ever the one to notice a lady's flirtatious looks or gestures. Sometimes Nikita often wondered if her brother would _ever_ get married, because from the way he was going she highly doubted it.

"Good. Shall we ride in the carriage, or would you like to walk?" Keiran asked.

"Walk, please."

The siblings made their way out of the Aries manor house with grace and small chatter, but Nikita's head was always focused on something other than what her brother was talking about. She saw- things. When she looked toward the gardener, she saw behind him a trail of green footprints, but after a few seconds they had quickly faded away. When she looked at the police officer standing outside her house, she saw him in a strange, eerie blue. It was gone before she could make any sense of it.

"Nikita, are you listening?" demanded Keiran when they had made it outside their house and was walking along the crowded street. She started at her brother's snappish voice and turned to face her head sidelong towards him. He was looking down at her in concern, his pale eyebrows drawn together.

"Are you okay?" he asked again when she didn't answer. Nikita blinked; she could've sworn she saw something red sneaking inside through a window of their house...

"I think someone is trying to break in," she said urgently when she saw another thing in a red uniform sneak through the window. "There- It just jumped through the window!"

Keiran's eyes widened and he followed her finger. There were more men, carelessly jumping through the same window, wearing Templar uniforms. Nikita saw her brother's eyes darken and he took hold of her shoulders. His green-gold eyes were almost blown black.

"Nikita, I need you to go to the Assassin's and tell them to send backup. They have a secret entrance down in the sewers; you must run there and tell them to send backup to our house. Tell them your name, and they will listen. They will know what to-"

"Kai, no!" Nikita interuppted, clutching onto her brother's arm the way she used to do when they were children. "I-I don't understand. You must come with-"

"Nikita, there is no time!" he shouted. He bent over so that he was eye-level with Nikita and spoke gentler. "I know you don't understand, but you don't have to understand. All you need to know is that our family is under attack and we need the Assassin's to help protect us. The Templars are our enemies. Remember that." He spun her around by her shoulders and gave her a push. "Go to the Assassin's! Their hideout is under the district. If you get lost, go to the blacksmith on Rue Malus. Ask him to take you there. Now go!"

Nikita turned around with tears in her eyes, but didn't find the sight of her brother. Keiran was already gone, running inside the house with his pistol in hand, slamming the doors behind him.

_You're on your own now, Nikita. Kai is counting on you to bring back up._

Before she could think twice, Nikita found the will to move her feet from the street and she took off running. Assassins. Under the district. Secret entrance in the sewers. Get lost, find the blacksmith. Rue Malus. Kai needs back up. Kai needs help. Family is under attack. Kai is in there alone. Templars are the enemy.

_Templars are the enemy._

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><p><strong>[A\N: Okay, so this is chapter one! I know that this is very short, and please forgive me, but I thought it should be good to just end it there. I'm not sure if I should continue this story, so if you want it continued then please tell me and review. I promise that, if I do continue, the second chapter will be long. This is my first story on this, so if there are any mistakes then just ignore them because I will fix them up later.<strong>

**Thank you for picking this story!]**


	2. Chapter 2

**[A\N: Okay, first thing you should know is that I literally know NOTHING about French history and the French Revolution except for a few details. I know nothing of the royal family of France nor do I know anything about the 'famous' revolutionaries. I am making some of this up, and almost EVERY ONE of these things that I say about Paris history are not true! Just to get things straight.]**

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><p>Chapter 2 | Loss<p>

Nikita didn't stop running until she was at the blacksmith's shop on Rue Malus. She flew through the door at top-speed, and only slowed down when she almost crashed into the blacksmith's large metal worktable. The blacksmith himself was behind the table, staring at Nikita is startlement, his dirty and oiled hands halfway through sharpening a sword.

"Monsieur Poissant!" Nikita yelped, trying to keep herself from falling over by resting her hands on the Blacksmith's table. The shop was empty, save the man scrubbing the floor near the back door and Poissant himself. "M-my brother, he said that you could take me to the Assassins. Our house is under attack, you see, and he-"

"_Hush_, girl," said Poissant in a sharp voice, and Nikita broke off in astonishment, apart from her loud pants. "You don't gotta talk to me like that, orright? You said that your house is under attack?" Nikita nodded wildly; her hair was tumbling from its bun; her hat had already been discarded, and her dress had rips at the hem. "Follow me then, milady. I'll take ya to them Assassin fellas."

"Merci, Monsieur, merci! (Thank you, sir, thank you!)." Poissant rolled his eyes and jerked his chin at the man scrubbing the floor.

"Prenez soin de la boutique! (Take care of the shop!)" he said over his shoulder, and if there was a response, Nikita didn't catch it.

Monsier Poissant led Nikita out of the shop and onto the street, where beggers were begging and newspaper boys were trying to sell. He seemed to be taking it easy, strolling ever so slowly while whistling a tune. It was getting Nikita agitated. There she was, walking slowly with the blacksmith to a place where she had never been before, to people she had never _heard_ of before, while her brother was probably getting killed!

"Monsieur, I do believe that we need to hurry," Nikita voiced, looking sidelong at the blacksmith with a hardened expression as they passed a cafe. She could hear music inside, chatter and laughter, though that didn't dim the nagging worry that was weighing on Nikita's heart.

"Patience, Milady," said the blacksmith. "We just gotta go down these steps and we're there."

They did indeed go down the stairs, agonisingly slowly, and was met with the largest river that ran through Paris. Nikita ignored the second-glancing, drunken men and continued to follow Poissant. Abruptly, he turned, and as Nikita followed on she was met with a barred gate that lead to what she assumed the sewers. _There is a secret entrance under the district. _Nikita's brother's voice rung in her ears as the blacksmith tapped five times on the gate. Then he stepped back, an easy smile splitting his face.

"So, you married?" The words of the blacksmith startled Nikita and she turned her eyes toward the man uncomfortablely. He was smelly, grubby, and chubby, and was known for his lack of manners. Nikita bit back her tongue to stop herself from voicing these things, but in the end it didn't matter. The metal gate opened, and three tall men covered in black robes and a hood stepped out. Only their eyes were visible, everything else was covered.

"You have called, and we have come," said the man in the middle in a deep voice. He took no notice of the blacksmith and kept his head faced toward Nikita. She held back a shiver. "What is it you need, madam?"

Nikita felt like shrinking away from the man, but she didn't. "I am Nikita Marie Aries, and I have come to seek help," she said, and her voice rang high. "My house is being invaded by Templars as we speak, and my brother has sent me to request help and aid from you. He needs it desperately."

"You are Antony Aries daughter?" asked the man, and Nikita nodded quickly.

"Please, monsieur. My brother-" Nikita broke off. She couldn't bring herself to say it. _My brother might already be dead_.

The man nodded, and looked toward the blacksmith. "Thank you, brother," he said. "May you leave in peace." Then, as Poissant nodded and walked off, he looked at the second hooded figure on his left. "Take Mademoiselle Aries to her chamber. Make sure she is well fed and not restless." The man on his left nodded and held his arm out for Nikita, but she shook her head, her eyes narrowing.

"I-I wish to go with you," she said to the middle man. "I wish to help, in any way I possibly can. And if that means that you give me a gun, then I shall gun down every one of those bastards. I mean bad men," she quickly corrected herself. Her mother's voice rang in her ear. _A lady should never have to use bad language to get her point across, Nikita._

"Mademoiselle, you can help us by staying where you are safe," said the man on the left. His voice sounded a little bit Irish in Nikita's ears. "We mustn't dawdle. If you would please take my arm, I shall escort you to your chambers."

Nikita knew that arguing with these men was no use; they were mannered, of course, but they were also Assassins, and she couldn't forget that. And every second that they spent disagreeing was one second taken off Keiran's life. Besides, she tried to tell herself, they had probably dealt with these things plenty of times.

"You can escort me, Assassin, but I shall walk myself." The Assassin nodded and turned around, holding the barred gate open for her. Nikita held her chin high and started walking, but then stopped herself stared at the Man in the Middle who's name she did not know. "Please, do everything you can to get my brother out of there alive," she whispered, and strode past them.

The Assassin man that was escorting Nikita to her chambers was silent and formal as they walked, and Nikita preffered it that way. Of course, it was horrible thinking about her dangered brother, but it seemed that that was all she wanted to think about. She didn't care that she was walking on unknown grounds with a stranger, towards a chamber that was apparently her's; she didn't care that she looked like hell and her feet were aching from running in her heels; all she cared about, all that she thought about, was whether the safety of her brother's life was assured by the Assassins.

"If you do not mind me asking, monsieur, what exactly is your name?" Nikita finally asked as they walked up another flight of steps. The Assassin didn't turn to face her when he answered.

"Christian de Simein, madam," he answered. There it was again, that accent.

"Are you from Ireland, Monsieur de Simein?" Nikita inquired. In all honesty, Nikita didn't really care, but anything was now better than thinking about her brother. Worry weighed down her chest, as if someone had put a hook on one of her ribs and pulled. It hurt to breathe.

"I am, madam. I left when I was fourteen."

"Was it beautiful there?" she asked quietly. The man finally looked down at her, and Nikita looked up. His black hood was covering his face, and only his eyes were visible. They were green, though in the darkness of where they were, they looked almost black.

"Are you trying to distract yourself from thinking about your brother, Mademoiselle Aries?" he asked. Nikita sighed and nodded, turning her head back to the front.

"I am deeply worried, Monsieur. Keiran had always protected me. It sickens me to my core to think that he may not be able to protect himself." Nikita looked back up at Christian de Simein hesitantly. She wasn't sure what she was expecting him to look like, but his eyes were sympathetic as they gazed down at her.

"I make no promises, Madam, but if your brother is still alive by the time that the Assassins get to him, then you can rest assured that he is safe," he said, and Nikita let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. That took some of the dragging weight off of her heart, and by the time that the two aquaintances made it to a chamber-like room, Nikita was feeling better than she had been before she saw the Templars sneak through the windows of her house.

The room that Christian lead Nikita to was large with a big oak door that was the only entrance and exit. The room was a mixture of warm and safe colours; the floor had maroon carpet; there were rose-shaped lamps that hung on the walls; there was a cozy fireplace on the west wall, while on the wall opposite that was a large bed with red pillows. The room was lovely, with its beautiful patterns that lined the wallpaper, but Nikita found herself gasping in horror.

Hanging on the wall in front of her, half-smiling half-scowling at her, was a painting of Nikita when she was **_six_**. Nikita remembered that day clearly; her father had hired an artist to come in to paint her, and Nikita had to stand in front of the canvas for three hours while that man painted her. She was dressed in her finest dress; emerald green and gold, white frills around the cuffs of her wrists. Her hair was hanging around her shoulders in ringlets. The painting would have looked lovely, if it weren't for the angry glint in her eyes and her stubborn jaw that told everyone, _I was **forced** to do this!_

Nikita had hated that portrait, and usually daydreamed about ripping it to shreds in front of the painter's and her father's eyes. She didn't understand why she had to stand in front of a silly-looking man when she could be playing with her brother. She didn't understand why she had to do it but Keiran didn't. By the time she had turned seven, she had completely forgotten about the portrait that was, in her opinion, horrific. And now, of all times, it stared back at her like a scary reminder that it was still existing.

"Where did you get this?" Nikita demanded of Christian, and strode angrily towards the painting. "And why is it _here_? Here, of all places? Does my father know you have this?"

"Which question would you like me to answer first?" asked the Assassin, and she heard amusement in his voice. She turned around at the man lingering by the door and narrowed her eyes.

"Does my father know you have this?"

"Your father was the one who made all of this happen," answered Christian and began walking towards her. He stopped when he was right next to her and looked up at the painting. "I understand you have many questions about who we are and what we do, and why you have your own personal chamber here, but I think you would much prefer it if you were clean and comfortable before you hear the details. Or not," he added quietly as he caught her glare.

"Monsieur de Simein, if you do not mind, I would like to look upon your face." She almost blushed at the way she had just sounded. Christian's green eyes widened a fraction. _Oh God. That sounded so much better in my head, _she thought. "I-I mean, while you tell me the details of this mess, of course," she said quickly, feeling her cheeks warm. "I think it is only fair. You have seen my face, you know my name. I know only your name. It is only fair if-" She broke off as Christian, saying nothing at all, pulled down the hood and mouth covering that he was wearing and revealed himself.

He looked like the perfect dark angel, like the charming prince in the love stories that her mother used to read to her when she was a child. His skin was flawless and pale, but his cheeks were strangely flushed as if he had a fever. Just the mere shape of his face would be enough to get any woman to marry him. His jaw was hard and strong, his mouth was full and shaped and blended with the colour of his face perfectly, his cheekbones were high and sharp. His hair was ink-black and messy. It curled at the nape of his neck and slightly at the tips of his bangs. His hair made his eyes even more green, and his eyes made his hair look even more black. He looked young, probably 19 at the oldest.

Nikita knew that she was openly gaping, and she instantly let her mouth shut in embarrassment. Christian chuckled, and she saw his mouth upturn on one corner. "Is it fair now?" he asked, and Nikita nodded slowly. She knew she ought to be mildly ashamed by her staring and open-gawking, but this man was too gorgeous for her to care.

"I...um..." Nikita found herself trying to talk, and she stopped automatically before she said something stupid. Or, even worse, _flirtatious_. Christian raised his dark eyebrows.

"I am suddenly regretting taking my hood off," he said, though he certainly didn't sound like he meant it. He sounded wickedly amused, though his face was still composed and formal. "Would you like me to put it back on?"

"That won't be neccisary, Monsieur," said Nikita, composing her own face. The flutter in her chest had died down quite a bit by then. "I am still wondering about my father. What did you mean when you said that he 'made all of this happen'?" Curiosity was burning through her; she needed answers. If she didn't get them, then she would just keep thinking about her brother and drive herself half mad.

"We know a lot about you and your family, we Assassins," started Christian, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "And that is all thanks to your father. He was an Assassin, one of us, before he left the Brotherhood for a safer life for him and his family. Most of us who wish to leave the Brotherhood are not so easily let off, but because your father was well-respected and had served the Creed flawlessly, he was let off not only easily, but with assurance that should the day come, he and his family can be let back here with open arms."

"My father...was an Assassin?" Nikita blinked. Her father, the man who had taught Nikita to dance, who had the warmest smile a man could have, who looked at someone and only saw the goodness in them, was a highly-trained _killer_?

"Indeed. And he was the best the Brotherhood had ever seen, or so I hear. It was a pity for the brothers to let him go." Nikita looked back toward the painting. That painting had been made 10 years ago; the date was written in neat, small handwriting in the bottom corner. Her father had sat next to the painter and made funny faces behind his shoulder just to make her laugh. It had worked, and that was probably the only way she could've made it through the 3 hours without throwing a tantrum.

"He orginized this...?" asked Nikita quietly. She gestured with one hand the interior of the room.

"Apparently so," answered Christian. "I, personally, do not know much about your family. If you want answers, then I suggest you ask your father himself."

Nikita considered that. Asking her father sounded like a great idea, if it hadn't been for the fact that she didn't even know where her father was. 'He is with De La Serre,' her brother's voice whispered at the back of her head, but De La Serre was a Templar, and weren't the Templars Nikita's enemies? What if De La Serre was the one who called on the Templars to invade their home, to kill everyone inside it? Was the reason Keiran and Nikita made it out a few minutes before the Templars jumped their windows just Lady Luck, or was it deliberate? Maybe they didn't want to kill anyone, but to steal something?

What did the Templars _want_ with her family?

"I...think I wish to clean myself up." Nikita's voice was quiet and weak and she didn't look at Christian as she said it. She could feel Christian's sympathetic stare as he looked down at her.

"As you wish," said the Assassin, and turned away. "I will be just outside your door to make sure that you do not sneak out, milady."

"So I'm trapped in here?" asked Nikita, though the thought didn't really bother her that much. She felt drained; too drained for even _her_ to sneak out. She just wanted to wash up, and go to sleep. She wanted to forget about her brother, as selfish as that sounded, and forget that there were so many questions that were still unanswered.

"It is for your own safety," said Christian, almost apologetically. Nikita was still staring at the painting on the wall when she heard the door shut behind him.

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><p>It seemed like she had only slept for five minutes when she was awoken by a large and persistent hand shaking her shoulder. There was a voice, too, saying, "Nikita, wake up now. I'm back."<p>

She felt her eyes snap open at the familiar voice, and Nikita sat up quickly enough for her head to spin. Her brother stood in front of her dressed in a whote cotton shirt and trousers, and as she gazed up at him in amazement the way a child would gaze up at their idol, he bent over and threw his arms around her, hugging her closely as she buried her face in his chest and whispered nonsense like, "I knew you would make it back," and "I never doubted you once," while choking back tears of relief.

"I am so glad you made it to the Assassins," said Keiran, and he sounded so proud. "I-I was afraid that you would come back to the house. It was a bloody mess there until the Assassins showed up. I'm so proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, Kai!" Nikita pulled back and looked at her brother. He had a darkening bruise under his left eye and his lip and forehead were cut, but besides that he looked as if no one had touched him. Nikita felt her heart swell with happiness and relief. "How-how did you make it out? What _happened_ back there?" Something behind Keiran's eyes darkened and he almost immediately looked away.

"Templars. That's what happened," he said.

"Elaborate."

Nikita's brother sighed. "It was just a misunderstanding, Nick. Nothing to worry-"

"Don't you dare tell me that it is 'nothing to worry about,' Keiran, because I know that that is not true. Where is father? Mother? Do they know what is going on?" Nikita was mildly surprised at the sharpness of her own voice. She didn't dwell on it for long; she was _angry_. She was sick of secrets, of surprises. Her brother had the answers and she knew it.

Keiran dropped his eyes from her, his expression sad, his face pale. "Nick..." he said, and his voice cracked. He tried again. "Nick, they're g-gone. Mother... and Father..."

"What do you mean 'gone'?" demanded Nikita, sitting up straight in the bed and staring at her brother. But deep down she knew what he mean't by _gone_. Oh, she knew, alright.

Keiran looked at her, and she saw with a wave of shock that his eyes were rimmed with unfallen tears. "They-they fought bravely, but it was to no avail. Father was shot down, and M-Mother-" he broke off, took a deep breath, and grabbed Nikita's frozen hands. She knew she was shaking, but she couldn't stop. Every word that her brother said was like a painful blow in the chest. Every word that her brother said felt like she was being slapped. Every word that her brother said, she felt her heart sink deeper and deeper.

"_Mommy_," she whispered. Nikita hadn't called her mother that since she was a little girl, but she didn't care that she sounded childish. Her Mommy was _gone_, her Father was _gone_, dead, dead, dead. What was the last thing she had said to her parents? Did she tell them that she loved them? Did she tell them that she was thankful for bringing her and Keiran up like normal people, not snobby and rotten nobles?

Nikita didn't even know how, but somehow she was on her feet and she was blindly pacing around the room. "Those fucking Templars," she snarled and kicked the vanity table across from her. Her foot shot up with pain but she barely felt it. "I'm going to kill them. Every last one of those bastards." Nikita felt arms around her, strong arms constricting around her small, trembling frame.

She didn't know why, but Nikita found herself screaming and kicking, fighting and scratching the person who was holding her. She writhed and shouted, cursed and growled. "Nick, stop it!" The voice was her brother's and it was trembling just as much as Nikita's body was, and without a word Nikita fell back in her brother's arms, limp and empty. She felt numb, she felt like her whole world was falling away, but all she could do was watch it happen. She felt numb and useless and horrible, like everything that had just happened was her fault. Her parent's deaths, the Templar invasion...

"I want to sleep," she breathed and closed her eyes. "I want to sleep forever..." She felt her brother shaking her, screaming at her to wake up, but all she wanted to do was be selfish and sleep. _Forever_.

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><p><strong>[A\N: I haven't edited this yet so please bear with any errors!]<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

"Took you long enough, biscuit," said a deep voice as Nikita opened her eyes groggily and sat up. Her head hurt, throbbed, actually, and her eyes felt gluey and stuck together. She was in her chamber, in her bed, and sitting in a chair next to her was a blue-robed Assassin. The person was obviously a man because of his voice and build, but his face was entirely unfamiliar. He had dark hair and dark eyes, and a moody expression.

"Who are you?" asked Nikita, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She remembered nothing of the night before after she had lain down in her brother's arms. She remembered her brother telling her that their parents were gone, dead, and that it was the Templars who killed them.

Nikita fisted her hands in the sheets of her bed and tried to keep her breathing even.

"Pierre Bellec," he said in a grouchy voice that matched his moody face. "I will be your mentor."

Nikita blinked and continued to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm going to train you, biscuit," said Pierre, and leaned backwards in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "I see it. Everyone told me that his kids have come, but I didn't really believe it myself. I see your father in your stubborn jaw, and you have your mother's beauty. The Aries were always a pretty bunch." Nikita frowned at the man, she didn't know why, but she did, as if he had said something to insult her.

"Are you some long-lost uncle or something?" she demanded, not caring about how rude she sounded. "How do you know my parents?"

"Past-tense, biscuit." Bellec didn't say this rudely, but almost cautiously. Though he didn't strike Nikita as someone who was cautious with his words. Nikita felt the words like a numbing hit across her temple. "Your parents are in the past now. I'm sorry."

She gulped. Thinking about her parents was probably equivilant to placing a glass shard on her tongue and swallowing it. It hurt her, it numbed her. She felt useless and hopeless and lost. "Are you going to train me to kill Templars?" The words tumbled out of Nikita's mouth before she could stop them, but then again, did she _really_ want to stop them? She wanted to kill them, every last one, for taking away her family, for tearing her apart. For leaving Keiran and Nikita alone.

Bellec's eyes flashed with sorrow, but it was quickly recovered. "Would your father really want you talking like that?"

"My father is _gone_," Nikita said calmly, though inside she felt anything but calm. "I believe that it doesn't really matter what my father wants now." Bellec stared at Nikita, his face void of any emotion. Very slowly, he pushed himself up on his boot clad feet and stretched.

"Training starts in ten minutes," he said. "Your gear is in the trunk at the foot of your bed. Part of the training is familiarizing yourself with the attire. Gear up, and meet me in the courtyard."

As he started walking to the door, Nikita called out to him. "How will I know where the courtyard is?"

"Jemima will show you," Bellec responded without a backward glance. "Also she'll help you with your gear, should you need it." And as he was just about to close the door behind him, in flew a petite-looking girl in a maid's attire, her face bright and pretty and beaming.

"Horrid man, isn't he?" were her first words, and it took a few moments for Nikita to actually respond. She was more in awe at the sight of the maid. She was dressed normally, but it was the way she held herself, and the way that she just spoke of Pierre that surprised her. A maid was never supposed to speak about a man like that, it just wasn't proper.

"How so?" asked Nikita finally. Jemima had a face that most people didn't really find as a maid. She looked more like a royalist, with her face dainty and slightly pinched, her cheeks pale and her eyes a dark blue. Yet the girl's confidence wasn't one found in a royalist. She seemed naturally happy and polite, and didn't look like someone who would hesitate giving money to the poor.

Jemima smiled a toothy smile and strode gracefully towards the trunk as Nikita arose from her bed. "He just has no manners," said the maid as she sorted through the trunk expertely, seeming to already know her job without Nikita having to tell her. "He walks around like he's all that, and treats the maids here like shite."

Nikita's mouth literally dropped open. _Never_ had she _ever_ heard a maid talk the way that she had just. She had hardly even heard a noble talk that way. It shocked and astounded her into no speech.

The maid seemed to have noticed Nikita's lack of comment, because she turned towards her with a smile. "I have a contract with the Assassin's," she explained sheepishly. "One of my conditions of my working here is that I address everyone here the way I wish to, doesn't matter what level of nobility the person has reached."

"Amazing," whispered Nikita, and she found herself smiling at Jemima hugely. The other girl returned that smile with one of her own, and then turned back to her work.

"It truly is. The last person I had worked for didn't allow me to utter a single word. Not one." She shrugged, as if she had gotten over that, and then pulled something black out of the trunk. Jemima held it up in front of her and smiled at it.

"This is your shirt," she said, and placed it aside as she dug back through the trunk. Curiously, Nikita trudged forward and took the black material in her hand, holding it up in front of her face and letting it unfold by itself. It was a very black shirt, that had a collar and buttons. It was a man's shirt, and Nikita brushed her fingers over the material. It was cotton, or at least it felt like cotton. She was already picturing it on her; it was big, so big that it would probably brush the middle of her thighs and swallow her hands up.

"If I may ask, you are Keiran's sister, aren't you?" Jemima peered at Nikita in curiosity.

"I am," said Nikita quietly. She wondered how her brother was. Or, more importantly, _where_ he was. She hadn't seen him since the night before, and it hurt her to think of the look on her brother's face when Nikita had thrashed in his arms.

Jemima, seeming to notice Nikita's hurt, quickly looked back to the trunk and started fiddling around in there. "He is a good lad, your brother," said the maid, and Nikita could've sworn she saw the corner of the girl's mouth turn upward as she spoke of him. "Very handsome. Smart. Kind. You look very much alike."

_Does she fancy my brother?_ wondered Nikita, blinking. Of course, Keiran had had very many ladies to give him their hearts, but he usually just ignored them or tried to be as polite as possible when rejecting them. Keiran never seemed to want anybody, thats what Nikita had always thought, but now...

Perhaps he only ignored ladies repeatedly because he already _had_ someone?

"These are your trousers," said Jemima, handing the pair to Nikita. With idle fingers, Nikita reached out and grabbed onto the pair. The trousers were not so big. In fact, they looked like they would fit her perfectly. They were obviously made with a women in mind, not a man, and it was also obviously made for shaped legs. Nikita almost blushed when she saw in her head how the pants may look on her. They looked tight, but flexable.

"Would you like me to help you change, miss?" asked Jemima, though she said it like she already knew the answer. Nikita nodded quickly.

* * *

><p>Nikita spent the whole walk to the courtyard in confusion and silent frustration. She had previously thought that they were underground, but that was proved untrue as Jemima lead her to the end of the large corridor that lead away from her room, and opened the door, stepping through. They were then in a strange, stone-walled building that Nikita had never seen before. It seemed ancient, and smelt of burning things and carpet and cement. It seemed so grand that Nikita didn't even want to look around her, for she had a feeling that the building was not for her eyes to see. So she kept her eyes down.<p>

It confused Nikita. Where they underground, or not? It seemed like they were, because there were no windows, but then where was the light coming from? There were no lamps, no torches, no nothing to make light. They walked through several other doors; Nikita feared that they might be lost.

They had passed strange people on the way, too. People with the same robes as Christian had, but some weren't covering their faces. There were men dressed in raggedy clothes sharpening knives and blades leaning against the wall, woman dressed as the women of pleasure strapping things to their thighs were chatting happily to each other, and she even saw a child or two, probably no more older than 12, staring open-mouthed at a french rifle that was situated inside a glass case.

When Nikita finally emerged from the double doors of the courtyard, she was dressed in the black shirt, the dark and stretchy trousers, a pair of shiny, knee-high boots, and a large belt with multiple buckles. Nikita felt strangely underdressed; it wasn't her first time wearing clothing that were considered men's, but she still felt very strange. The shirt hung loosely off her shoulders and, thankfully, was big enough to cover most of her thighs. The idea of Pierre Bellec seeing the shape of her thighs didn't appeal to Nikita even slightly. But the thought of training made her even more nervous.

What would Bellec make Nikita _do_? Run laps? Hopefully not. Do push-ups? Oh, please no.

"Don't worry, miss," said Jemima. She stood cheerfully next to the doors of the courtyard, a smile on her pretty face. A duster was poised in one of her hands. "I've seen Bellec train people for the first time. You have nothing to fear, really." Forcing a smile her way, Nikita turned back around as Jemima turned around and closed the doors behind her.

The courtyard was spacey, with a lot of ground and not a lot of grass on that ground. It was a circular clearing-type area, but didn't have any trees or plants. It was shaped by three large buildings, that had the same stone walls that she had seen before. In the middle of the desterted area sat Bellec, one ankle crossed over the other carelessly as he slumped in a wooden chair.

"Its about time, biscuit," he groaned and used one hand to gesture for Nikita to come closer. She did just that, her boots crunching on the rough dirt. She halted when she was a few feet away from him.

"What is this training?" she asked, and though she tried to come off as demanding and strong, she only sounded curious.

"I'm not going to be handing you a weapon just yet," Bellec said in a way of reply, and Nikita felt herself perk up a little. She had felt a little nervous about holding a weapon. "In this lesson, I'm going to be showing you single-handed combat. You won't always have a weapon with you, so it is good to be prepared. Block!"

Nikita yelped in surprise and shock as Bellec raised his hand that somehow held a dagger and brought it down towards her. She squeezed her eyes shut and curled up, her arms brought up in front of her face as a pathetic block. _Great_, she thought dryly, _first lesson and I'll be cut into shreds_.

But the dagger never touched her, and slowly, very slowly, Nikita peeked open her eyes and saw that behind her hands stood Bellec, the dagger still raised in his hand, looking down at her with idle amusement. He chuckled.

"That was not blocking. That was cowering like a pup with your tail between your legs." Nikita straightened up, embarrassed at her failed attempt at protecting herself.

"It was a surprise," she said.

"No ones going to give you a heads up before they attack, Nina." Bellec put the dagger in his belt and Nikita frowned.

"Nikita. My name is Nikita."

Bellec shrugged. "Whatever. Now put your hands up. I'm going to show you how to defend yourself."

* * *

><p><strong>[A\N: Okay, so thats chapter three done! I'm going to skip the whole 'being reborn' thing and just go straight to the training, as I have no idea how that works. Also, if you don't get something about it then you're free to comment or inbox me about it! Sorry if there is any errors in the spelling or something, I'll go through it when I can.<strong>

**In the next chapter, it will be a time-skip and she will be fully trained. Sorry if this is too short! Please comment your thoughts!]**


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